Not Six Sentence Sunday

Will’s shoulders hunch as he shoves his hands into his pockets, and Hannibal’s arm tingles where the weight of touch has left him. “I don’t want Abigail to have my life,” Will says, his features softened now, and wholly sincere. “I want her to have something better.”

“Is your life so terrible that you would abandon the opportunity to share it with your daughter?”

“Now?” Will pauses, a flicker of thoughts and emotions too fast to read washing over that exquisite visage. “Now, no,” he says eventually. “But at her age, it was a burden near-impossible to bear.”


It is slowly getting longer! Very slowly.